Three Ginnys and a Ferret
by goodgirlsbadboys
Summary: *Chap 10 here* *He finds out!* You are warned. Do not read if you are into D/G fluff/sweetie-pie romances. This is as dark as the inside of a hippogriff.
1. Ginny and her Selves

Ginny and her Selves  
  
Great Hall. Lake. Forbidden Forest. Dungeons.  
  
Ginny Weasley was reciting a list of all the places she could go to right now for distraction, for anything that could stop her from being alone with herself - selves - for another minute. There were two colliding Ginny Weasleys in her head. They bickered, fought, started WWIII in her head. The innocent civilian was the third Ginny Weasley, the one who had to brush teeth, comb hair, find clean clothes, get to classes, hand in homework that was becoming steadily more impenetrable...poor sucker, poor third Ginny Weasley.  
  
Great Hall. Lake. Forbidden Forest. Dungeons.  
  
The hysterical Ginny Weasley - one of the warring ones - was reciting these names over and over like a mantra, an infinite loop. With a great effort she focussed her eyes on her surroundings and they fell on her dirty robes, her frayed shoelaces, her unfinished homework. Inside her head, the second, anally retentive Ginny Weasley foisted another large load of guilt on her small shoulders. She personally thought she'd got this one like unwanted flu from Percy, but at least Percy was happy because there was only one of him - this anally retentive Percy. He didn't have two bickering stowaways inside his head creating havoc for the third one at the helm.  
  
Right. It would have to be the lake. Too many people/miscellaneous monsters in all the other places. Getting back by curfew, Weasel, is imperative, said anally retentive Ginny. Hysterical Ginny broke out into a storm of mental tears, earning an extra dose of contempt from tight-arsed Ginny. The Ginny in the middle had just enough presence of mind to pull on a jumper under the robes. Weasel. She called herself that inside her head sometimes. It made her smile with affection for herself, and she felt a bit softer towards her two stowaways for an instant. After all, no one else really understood her. Best to stick with the stowaways.  
  
She preferred to stay completely still when she ran away from all the other people she shared Hogwarts with. On a tree stump looking over the wide expanse of stormy gray water, completely still. Then the third Ginny could stop her reluctant steering of the Ginny-boat and disappear. Ginny's mind could wander then. It frightened her sometimes that when she needed to move again, always in response to the cruel pressures emanating from without her, she had no memories of these periods of escape. She could never tell what she had been thinking about - fantasies, memories, what, Weasel? she would sometimes ask herself. No answer from either of the stowaways.  
  
Escape time was nearly over. Nearly, and now she would have to come out of her soporific silence and re-enter the world of gossip, competition and wretched homework. Pondering on moving and not making a move, she heard a twig crunch behind her. She moved round lazily, she didn't care who it was, particularly. Her heart sank, a horrible feeling crept into the pit of her stomach and her defenses screamed "red alert!". Draco Malfoy - alone for a change - stopped too. She hopped off the tree stump and began to back away from one of her most loathed enemies - make that her most loathed enemy. He noticed it and smirked briefly for a moment, his lip curling in contempt. Then his expression became one of indifference, as of he was watching an everyday, uninteresting spectacle. His mental dismissal of her was almost physically visible as he stalked off back to the castle.  
  
She was a few minutes late getting back to the castle, earning her a reproving stare from Professor McGonagall. Hysterical Ginny sank in misery at this small gesture of disapproval and anally retentive Ginny beat herself up about such a glaring failure.  
  
The Ginny-who-steered tried vaguely to remember what homework she had to do that evening. Malfoy surfaced diffusely in her long periods of usual abstraction, appearing as a vague uneasy anxiety that she could find no reason for. Another dead-weight floating down into the layers of Ginny Weasley.  
  
  
  
I don't think this is going to turn out to be a nice fic..reviews? Pretty please with a cherry on top? All hail to the amazing rebendre on magicaltheory.com. A big thank-you from goodgirls badboys..... 


	2. The third Ginny and Neville discuss Ferr...

This chapter is dedicated to the first four reviewers of my first-ever story! *Hugs*! To Miah Tolensky "anally retentive" is a British expression for someone who adores rules and can't abide rule-breaking. Crystal and Fire Fairy - muchas gracias for the support. VenusDeOmnipotent - you sound just like me from your reaction to the story!  
  
The third Ginny and Neville discuss Ferret  
  
The two Ginnys had stopped fighting and spitting at her and had sunk below the surface for a moment. The real-world Ginny Weasley felt relaxed for once. Actually relaxed, she thought, staring into the fire, one shoe off, homework sliding off her lap and onto the floor. She had finished the Charms homework - she was better at that than at anything else. Not bad, Weasel, she thought, allowing herself a rare, tiny pat on the back. Ginny- at-the-helm had not done too badly for once, helped along immensely by a completely unexpected conversation with Neville Longbottom.  
  
She had gone back through the portrait hole, the vague familiar anxiety coiling around her heart. It had an almost physical presence. It seemed to wake and sleep in the left side of her chest, where she imagined her heart to be. Now it lay asleep, but when it woke it stretched like a cat - or a snake. The common room had been unusually empty, except for Neville Longbottom looking through Ron's forgotten Chudley Cannons magazine. Ginny had forgiven him for treading on her feet at the Yule Ball, Neville seemed as mentally dishevelled as she felt and she often spoke to him about her worries - no specific details but generalised complaints that mirrored her inner storms. How had that conversation started?  
  
"Have you heard, Neville? There were horrible Muggle killings in London this week, right in the middle of Hyde Park." Neville frowned - his knowledge of the Muggle world was limited. "How many?"  
  
"Four. People - bodies found scattered around the Park. One with her bike beside her, two with rollerblades still on. And a Park-keeper." She paused. "I'm very upset about it." Saying it helped her somehow.  
  
"Was it You-Know-Who?"  
  
"Who knows? The Muggle police say it was the work of an Albanian gang, all in the space of a week. Ordinary folk, poorer than average...I think about You-Know-Who a lot of the time, you know?" Neville's mouth opened and Ginny realised that she'd said the wrong thing. "About the whole situation. What'll happen next, whether he'll pounce, whether he'll wait and play with our minds, whether he'll target my father, whether I'll be dead in the next year." Suddenly aware that her speculations were growing steadily more tragic, she sighed. To her surprise, Neville did not seem fazed. "Uncertainty is the hardest thing." he said, looking at his shoes. Ginny glanced down and smiled a small smile, his shoelaces were no better than hers. At least she had a partner in something.  
  
It must be pointed out here that Ginny and Neville often had philosophical conversations. Ginny asked Neville questions that no-one else did. So he gave her answers that he wouldn't dream of giving anyone else. "I've been thinking of getting the 'Meditations' of Marcus Aurelius," he said. "It says that the first thing you must do on waking up every morning is to remind yourself that someone is going to treat you like shit during the day. Some worthless idiot is going to come up and treat you like you're dirt. And you've got to get used to it. That's just the way life is. And then you die. "  
  
Ginny Weasley never realised this, but she loved debating with people on issues that caught her interest. She was so caught up that she did not notice the two bickering Ginnys at all. They had disappeared, not completely, but for a while. "That's just sappy, Neville. I simply can't believe something so pessimistic! OK, I know that nowhere in the history of the world, muggle or magical, has there ever been complete peace at any time. Someone's always fighting someone else." It was a real sign of her interest that she didn't even think of herself at this point. "But there's got to be some philosophy somewhere that can lead to an end to this horror. War after war after war. What's the point?"  
  
"Some people are purely evil, Ginny," said Neville. "There's nothing you can say or do to them that will make them stop craving power over people or stop them abusing that power. They're made that way and that's how they'll stay. Think of the dementors." He shuddered. Ginny considered. Everything that Neville was saying was alien to what she believed. The third Ginny, let it be known, had the hotheadedness and passion that only the idealistic young are capable of. Fortunately it came to the fore when the two bickering Ginnys were stilled, and sometimes she caught a glimpse of how she could be a much happier Ginny. "The dementors maybe. But what about the giants, the centaurs, the goblins? They went over to the Dark side because this side had nothing to offer them. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, really. Expect someone to be evil and they will be. Trap them into being one thing and they won't have a way out. Wasn't it as much our fault as theirs?"  
  
"How about Malfoy?" said Neville. He smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. "That thing is evil." There was a rare vehemence in his tone and he had tensed. "He believes that Mudbloods should be killed, Ginny. Imagine what he would do to squibs if he ever had one in his power. Oh, and speaking of power, have you seen anyone he doesn't use and abuse? Any opportunity he doesn't take to push his money and his inbred family into everyone's faces? Imagine Malfoy older, with more money and more power, Ginny. What would you say to him? Hi Malfoy, I don't expect you to be evil. Now calm down and let out your nice inner child. We all know it's in there somewhere! Do you think he would say, oh yes, Ginny, gosh, I didn't know I could be good until you told me. I'm going out to give all my money away to charity and make my castle a Muggle shelter right now??"  
  
Neville was breathing harder than usual but Ginny could detect something in his tone that reassured her - it wasn't personal. And she had to smile at his sarcasm. She appreciated smart talking. Malfoy. She stopped a moment, imagining herself being anything other than reluctantly tolerant towards Malfoy, and only if he were standing between her and a hungry Hungarian Horntail. She grinned. "You've got a point there. But look. Malfoy is the result of his upbringing. You don't know that he's intrinsically evil. He doesn't *know* anything about Muggles. Fine, he doesn't care. But let's say Hermione saved his life. I don't think he'd be able to ignore that."  
  
It sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears. For a moment she stopped, overcome by a memory of Lucius Malfoy at the bookshop. The sneer, the cruelty making a wall so impenetrable that it was hard to believe he was human. She remembered the diary, and then a harsh memory surfaced. Harry had saved her life, Dumbledore had made the right speeches and handed round 'Special Services to the School' awards. Her father had lectured, her mother had wept, Ron had frowned. Ginny had just realised how close to death she had been. The evil that everyone had prattled on about was not the thing uppermost in her mind. It was the way that those who knew had looked at her. Harry had given her an unwanted look of pity. Her father had treated her as totally devoid of intelligence. Her mother had her face screwed up in disbelief. Ron had given her a 'so you're the cause of all this trouble' look. Hermione had smiled uneasily, trying hard to look ignorant of the event in Ginny's presence.  
  
At that end of that year Ginny Weasley knew, as if the knowledge were a knife thrust into her side, that she was no longer a child. She had split and the two Ginnys had emerged over the summer. The hysterical Ginny was the one that no one trusted and everyone regarded as the weakest link in the chain. The anally retentive Ginny was the one who tried to compensate for these sins, beating herself up to regain the control she had so completely lost that year. Nuclear fallout in her head all day every day, the buzzing never stopping. Except at moments when the original Ginny (now relegated to third place) emerged, interested as openly as a child in some idea.  
  
There was one other thing that Ginny never told anyone. It came to her again and again in her dreams. It wasn't You-Know-Who. The cold and utterly evil force that pursued her again and again in her nightmares was that of Lucius Malfoy. His son, by extension, was part of that evil which in her dreams had no eyes, no nose, no mouth, no ears. Just a cold, swift presence that planned to maim and kill. The rapid memories came and went and Ginny stopped trying to imagine the Malfoys as human beings subject to weaknesses and acting out of ignorance. Neville was looking sceptical and shaking his head at her. "Maybe he'd just kill her to keep it quiet." he said. "Poor Hermione, I hope she's never around when Malfoy needs his life saving." Ginny nodded. "Well, you still haven't convinced me with the born-evil theory. Except for the dementors and Malfoy!" she laughed, and Neville placed Trevor on his shoulder, saying goodnight.  
  
Funny what a few words from someone you could genuinely relax with could do, thought Ginny. The third Ginny, the original Ginny, Ginny-at-the-helm.  
  
And on that note ("a few words from someone.." hint hint to my lovely readers) I exit through the side door. I love my reviewers. If you don't like it, tell me why! If you do, tell me, it makes my day and gives me energy and I head off to write more chapters straight away! 


	3. The three Ginnys discuss the Ferret's Sh...

The three Ginnys discuss the Ferret  
  
The third Ginny blearily woke up, reached for a robe, did the routine that she had to do in order to catch breakfast. The two Ginnys were also unfortunately awake and limbering up for the next phase of major war. "What will everyone think of me in these scruffy robes? " thought hysterical Ginny. "Stop worrying about the robes, you idiot!" shouted anally retentive Ginny. "Who's going to notice you anyway? Except Snape when he takes points from Gryffindor when he hears you breathing? No boy is going to take a second look, so forget your misbegotten appearance right now." Hysterical Ginny panicked at the thought of the unending routine of the day: classes where she couldn't concentrate, homework that she tried to put off, jokes which she wasn't privy to. And this was before the day had properly started, before the third Ginny had even begun brushing her teeth! "These two disembodied bitches might as well persuade me to shoot myself in the foot just before I go for a ten-mile walk." she thought sourly.  
  
She looked at Malfoy in the Great Hall. Properly, for the first time. Before then he had always been a silver-green blur in the corridors and a stifling evil presence in her dreams. For a monster, he looked very human. By any conventional standards, he had striking looks and a powerful presence. What is it, mused the third Ginny, that makes humans into saints or monsters? What is it that makes that Malfoy resemble an impenetrable wall, that makes him so powerful and so...non-human? She did not doubt that he was evil. Neville had said that he was born evil and couldn't change. What would she change about Malfoy to make him human?  
  
He would have to be humbled, she thought. All three Ginnys were now speaking in unison, amazingly enough. He would have to suffer and be utterly at the mercy of a Muggle before that arrogance of his crumbled. Someone would have to break him again and again until he was torn apart. Perhaps a normal human being - frightened, hunted, prone to self-doubt, to weakness, to fear - could be put together from the pieces.She came back to herself with a start. Her own vehemence surprised her. It had not gone unnoticed by Ron either - he was staring at her mashed-up piece of toast. She glared at him and he looked away, they had not been on good terms since the last huge row about how he spied on her for the rest of the family. Ever since the Chamber, she had felt far from grateful to Harry and far from comfortable with Ron.  
  
Malfoy ate calmly, making some remark now and again with an annoyingly superior look on his face. She looked carefully at him again. He seemed capable of only two expressions - a smug superior smile and a frown of irritation. A wave of rage washed over her and she suddenly had rapid, multiple, highly-coloured visions - slapping him so hard that she heard his jaw crack, shooting him and seeing him open his mouth in shock, seeing the teeth and tongue stained with blood, seeing blood drooling down that chin and onto his robes....Malfoy calmly finished a piece of toast and rose from the table, swinging a long leg over the seat. Ginny blinked. She wasn't shocked at her visions, she had had murderous images in her mind for quite some time now. Neither of the two Ginnys inside her knew where they came from. Perhaps there was a pool of anger and violence inside her, she thought. Perhaps it would come out at some point. It gave her a strange exhilaration and, more importantly, the energy to get to class on time.  
  
Over the next few days Ginny thought obsessively of Malfoy without keeping conscious track of her thoughts. She had visions of Malfoy being killed in various ways. She wondered what made him the monster he was. She wondered how such an evil as the Malfoy family had flourished on the planet, why they were tolerated, why they were not removed, hunted down, exterminated. She imagined an earthquake ravaging his house, a Hippogriff mangling his body, a stake being driven through his heart so that the earth would be left clean again. It seemed a refreshing antidote to the Nevillian philosophy of hypnotising oneself into accepting shit treatment everyday. It was after two days of intermittent mental violence (the two Ginnys had formed a remarkable truce whenever the blood and gore emerged) that Ginny realised how ironic it was. He was her greatest enemy and she hated him. But she spent more time thinking about him, obsessing about hurting him, than she spent thinking about Harry, Ron, Hermione, her other brothers, her parents, or any of her friends.  
  
"I'm carrying Malfoy around with me all day," she thought. "Like I once did Harry. Only I thought I loved him, but I loathe Malfoy." Or maybe she only thought she loathed Malfoy, just as she had once thought she loved Harry. Maybe he had become a potent evil in her mind because she didn't know anything about him, just as he didn't know anything about Muggles. Maybe she only hated the Malfoy-exaggeration she had produced. For the first time it struck her that he might not know anything about his father's involvement with the Chamber. But no, she thought, that's just as likely as the two harpies inside my head disappearing into thin air. Malfoy knows. And he couldn't care less. But the question of why she carried him around with her wasn't resolved. She began to think of him as a statue, a mini- Malfoy on her left shoulder, much as Neville carried Trevor around.  
  
When she passed him in a corridor at lunch, she slowed down and looked at him again. Get to know the evil you're carrying around with you, she thought. All three Ginnys looked at him, glad that the corridor was wide enough for him not to notice. His robes were expensive. He walked jauntily, confidently, head held high, his expression alternating between superior and irate. He looked invulnerable. She tried to imagine him tripping and falling, books spilling out of his bag, dust on his robes, a crowd of students laughing at him. She couldn't. But she could all too easily imagine blood blossoming on the fair hair, running down his temples, blinding his sight. The human traffic pushed her on her way and the two Ginnys began to bicker about homework, the state of her quill, her grades, while the third Ginny tried to puzzle out a way to Transfiguration.  
  
"Move, Creevey!" said Snape. "The copper cauldrons in the bottom of the store cupboard. Haul out thirty, enough for the Slytherins and the rest of you Gryffindor lot." Colin looked mutinous but stood up immediately. Ginny gave Snape a look, wondering if she could produce some violent images about him dying in an explosion of blood. He noticed it. "You too, Miss Weasley. Let's hope that will stop you gaping like a goldfish." Yes, she could definitely envisage him in a crumpled heap, neatly brained by a heavy copper cauldron. But somehow it was much more satisfying with Malfoy.  
  
The store cupboard was in Snape's office. She was surprised to see it bright today, full of air and sunlight. She walked through the door and saw Malfoy. He was brewing a potion with his back to the door. She didn't look at him, but she got the impression that as far as he was concerned, she and Colin might as well have been house-elves. A brief, stony look to see what they were up to, and he went back to the potion. They started the noisy, unwieldy business of lugging out copper cauldrons, groaning under their weight, trying hard to avoid the scattered array of glassware and stop their robes from trying to trip them up. Ginny-at-the-helm tried hard to concentrate on the task, but her eyes kept sliding sideways to the pale evil brewing the potion. Know thy enemy, she thought. As she bent to drag more cauldrons out she caught sight of his shoes. Black, beautiful, leather, highly polished, clearly expensive.  
  
When she got back to her own potion (Snape was not allowing her extra time to brew it and kept hurrying her up) she paused for a moment. His shoes. She had felt an extraordinary prickling up her spine, a strange restlessness, when she saw his shoes. It wasn't fear, she knew. It wasn't loathing, it had nothing to do with the two Ginnys and they were temporarily shell-shocked enough to have shut up completely. What it is, Weasel, she told herself, what it is is sexual tension and you know it perfectly well.  
  
The anally-retentive Ginny had recovered enough to start preaching. "You have to concentrate in class, idiot. Do you think Snape's going to give you points for messing up that potion? And you're thinking about shoes? What on earth is the matter with you, well, over and above the usual?" Some other part of Ginny, though, felt a sinful pleasure at the thought of..Malfoy's shoes. The image stayed with her throughout the brewing, and to be sure, she did mess up the potion.  
  
Snape roared, hysterical Ginny quailed and whimpered, anally-retentive Ginny waited to pounce after Snape had finished. Ginny-at-the-helm was pretty exhausted after all the fuss. But at the end of the day, lying in bed, she thought. Malfoy's shoes. What the fuck was going on with her? No, really. What part of her was it that liked Malfoy's shoes? Did she like the shoes because she had a general shoe-fetish? Would she feel the shoe- induced thrill if Harry wore them? Something told her it was the shoes all right, but only because they were connected to the pale evil. Am I evil? she wondered. I thought I was only capable of low-grade screw-ups, no discipline/stamina/talent for major evildoing. Unless, a little voice whispered, unless Tom was involved. What if it was Malfoy who was involved? Especially with that perfect black polished pair of leather...? 


	4. The three Ginnys and the hidden one droo...

The three Ginnys are confronted by Ferret Fingers  
  
None of the Ginnys had forgotten the effect of Malfoy's shoes. Hysterical Ginny thought she was falling in love ("Well, aren't you the stupid one?" thought the other two) . Anally retentive Ginny thought it was sick, perverted, probably some side-effect due to Tom and his mindgames. After all, no-one knew what he had really done to her..The third Ginny laughed out loud at this: how likely was it that Tom had thought about Malfoy's shoes, for heaven's sakes? She had woken up extra-early one morning and tried to reason it out without the other two interfering - they were not morning people. She got absolutely no answers but just become puzzled and aroused at the same time, a rather unhealthy combination to deal with.  
  
She avoided Malfoy over the next week, taking care never to be within twenty feet of him if she could help it. "Well, Weasel," she told herself, "you're getting very expert at dodging down corridors for someone who looks upon you as a red-haired house-elf!" That made her laugh and feel a bit better. And she was kept occupied. Neville and she had fallen into the habit of talking about the You-Know-Who situation frequently. She didn't feel so alone anymore, but she couldn't bring up the topic of the Ginny- split inside her head; it was too personal. At the end of the week she could dismiss the Great Shoes Incident as the result of indigestion, nightmares, stress, Ron's glares, an overactive imagination...so that was that.  
  
Professor Flitwick smiled. "How to charm a wand? That's a very interesting project, Miss Weasley. In fact, I can demonstrate some of the simpler charms placed on the wand-core with common magical ingredients..hmmm, let me see.." He pottered about, looking through boxes, drawers and bottles in his office. "Oh dear, neither unicorn hairs nor phoenix feathers.I've lost them all somehow..Professor Snape should have some though..Well, Miss Weasley, it seems as if we will have to continue discussing this another day, I'm afraid."  
  
"I could get some unicorn hair from Professor Snape," said the third Ginny. As usual, when her interest was piqued, she lost her usual unease and brightened up. "If you give me a note, Professor, and if you're not busy." And that's how she ended up in the dungeons. "Wait in my office, Miss Weasley," said Snape. "Don't touch anything and don't interrupt the other students there. You may have to wait ten minutes." The 'other students' turned out to be three Slytherins all seemingly working very hard at potion- brewing. Amongst them, of course, was the pale evil monster.  
  
Three very brief glances and then total silence. The Slytherins didn't speak even to each other. She might have been one of Snape's pickles on the shelves. The hidden Ginny, the one who liked Malfoy's shoes, began to stir. She took control of Ginny's body enough to make her shift her position. Ginny found herself at an angle where she could see a portion of Maloy's face, his shoes of course and his hands, manipulating a tall piece of complicated glassware through which different liquids ran, pulsating and glooping. The hidden Ginny furiously fought down the screams and shouts of the rest of the voices. Let's call her the voyeur Ginny, because that's what she became in Malfoy's presence.  
  
His hands. Oh God, so this was the next phase up from his shoes. Long, elegant fingers. She suddenly remembered that she always looked at a man's hands before she decided if she found him attractive. Harry's hands - how many times had she looked at them? Especially when he caught the snitch, reaching out to grasp it. Those were the times when she felt that mounting restlessness inside her, as if she were a band being slowly stretched. That peculiar tension that made her want to scream and pounce on someone, attack them, fight them, fuck them.  
  
"Stop, idiot!" said anally-retentive Ginny. "He hates Muggles. He wished Hermione dead! His father tried to kill you! He would kill you as soon as look at you! Remember what Neville said about him using and abusing power?.." She petered out when she found that none of the other Ginnys were paying the slightest bit of attention. It was all focused on those hands. The liquid glooped, turned different colours, ran fast or slow under the caresses of those hands. She watched, fascinated, as those hands chopped ingredients, counted them, rinsed them, stirred them, dried them, polished them, ground them.  
  
Long, beautiful fingers..she tensed and parted her lips as she thought about one of those hands between her legs and a long pale finger entering her. "WHAT?" shouted so many voices in her hand that she started and put out a hand to steady herself. "Are you totally crazy?!" screeched both hysterical and anally retentive Ginnys together. "I must be," answered the third Ginny dazedly. "Malfoy's fingers? What the fuck?" She quickly removed her gaze to a particularly horrible piece of shifting purple slime in a bottle. But the hidden Ginny, the one who was a silent dark presence in her, refused either to answer or to leave.  
  
She shifted uncomfortably, her wet panties clinging between her thighs. The hidden Ginny rejoiced darkly at this evidence of lust. The rest of the mental spectators were rendered speechless. And still Malfoy carried on twiddling and twisting and moving those fingers, stroking glass, objects, ingredients, lifting, wiping, rinsing, running the tips of his fingers over angles and planes. The palms are strong and solid, she thought. The fingers are long and skilled...and then he turned round and looked at her for a brief moment, coldly. It was like being slapped with a handful of ice. He almost visibly shrugged before turning away, lifting the tall glassware and putting it away gently, and picking up his books. He wrote out a short note, placed it on the desk, and was gone before any of the Ginnys could say a word. He didn't look at her or acknowledge her presence enough to move away as her passed her.  
  
Later she lay on her bed as still as possible. What had happened had seriously disturbed her. The brief belief of hysterical Ginny about being in love had vanished, to be replaced by fear. Anally retentive Ginny perhaps thought this was enough punishment, because she was unusually silent, though watchful. Ginny-at-the-helm ran through the events again and again. She looked at Malfoy's hands. She imagined one of those fingers entering her, all of them resting between her thighs.and that aroused her to the point of wetness. This was her reaction a boy she loathed, hated, feared, who would kill her if he got the chance.  
  
"That was lust, pervert. Girls aren't allowed to lust!" piped up anally retentive Ginny. Hysterical Ginny answered with a low moan of fear that she was a pervert, susceptible to the wiles of men who would abuse her (remember Tom? But at least he had been nice to her!), and lustful to boot. The third Ginny was losing control of the other two, being dragged into their constant oscillation between self-hatred and fear. And there was this new Ginny who was powerful and hidden, who lusted after the shoes and hands of pale evil, who seemed about to push her over the brink, over some precarious edge that she couldn't see. The third Ginny felt that the ground beneath her feet was fast becoming a tightrope over an abyss. Images of pale hands ran through her mind.  
  
Mwahahaha! What's voyeur Ginny going to do next? Any naughty suggestions? Then review! It has to be all dark though, and I'm not going to make Malferret nice, in love, changing himself for her, etc, etc... 


	5. The Ginnys have a confrontation with Fer...

The Ginnys have a confrontation with Ferret  
  
The three Ginnys were like three points of a triangle as far as Malfoy was concerned. They could never come together whenever his image popped into their collective consciousness.  
  
"Malfoy." Said hysterical Ginny over and over again. "Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy." Her great talent was to keep repeating worrying things in the vague hope that it would lead to a solution. "Shoes and hands," she whispered. "Shoes and hands."  
  
Anally retentive Ginny hissed and spat like a salamander eating a Filibuster firework. "You know lass, you must be given the prize for the greatest idiot Hogwarts has ever seen! Malfoy is filthy, evil, horrible, he hates you! And you fucking dream of fucking him?!"  
  
This last was in response to a most inconvenient dream that Ginny had had in the early hours of the morning. Inconvenient for two reasons. It immeasurably increased the mental gibbering inside Ginny's head, and it seemed to give a fresh dose of energy to dark, hidden Ginny.  
  
She had woken with a start, her body tingling and throbbing. Her heart was racing. It was a level of sensation that you could only get in dreams. An orgasm, and not to put too fine a point upon it, a very long, very intense, very desirable explosion it had been.  
  
Malfoy had come to her bed and they had made the two-backed beast. In the dream it had seemed the most natural thing to do. She even remembered mundane details, like their entwined bodies clumsily shuffling in the bed so that they could turn and she could straddle him.  
  
His skin had been pale (of course), covered with the sheen of sweat. His fine hair had fallen over her face, making her feel like wild beast in a familiar cave. It seemed as if they had been at it for the thousandth time. She remembered his eyes flying open as she bit his throat, hard.  
  
And his fingers had been everywhere, inside her mouth and inside her soft folds at the same time. She had bitten and licked them all over, sucking at the solid flesh of the palms, grabbing the fingers in a frenzy as she threw herself at him..  
  
The morning had been difficult. Ginny winced as she felt the fear pool over her from one part of herself, the shock and recriminations from another Ginny, and worst of all, the soft chuckling of the hidden Ginny, turning and twisting beneath her collarbone. The weight of the Malfoy she was carrying around pulled her down, drained her of energy.  
  
Neville found her staring over her plate morosely at lunch. After the usual prompting ("You look like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking- chairs, what's up?") she asked what he would do if he ever wanted to sleep with a girl he hated.  
  
He looked nonplussed for a moment. "You mean Millicent Bulstrode or Pansy Parkinson? No fear! But hold on..that can sometimes happen." He looked closely at her but she kept her mouth shut. No knowing what the three fiends inside her might say if she gave them the chance.  
  
"It happens...sure. You know what they say, infatuation is like a cold. You can't cure it, just wait for it to pass. It's a biological thing. It's outside your conscious control. You can't choose who your body's attracted to. But you needn't give in to it, I guess...Who is it, Ginny?"  
  
She started. "Just a question, Neville. I mean, lots of girls like boys who are really mean to them. Or who don't notice them, or dismiss them." She looked at Harry pointedly, and Neville was thrown off by the red herring. "You don't hate Harry!"  
  
Ginny smiled. "No, but I resented him a bit for not noticing me. I don't anymore, of course!" she added quickly. Neville usually had comfort, and always some philosophy at hand.  
  
So that was the explanation - hormones. Though why her hormones should ever choose to get themselves entangled with that stupid Ferret's hormones was anyone's guess, she thought spitefully.  
  
Malfoy walked past right then. She registered the robes, the perfect shoes, the long fingers - all in the blink of an eye. The intensity of her orgasm (she had woken up as her body arched itself at the climax) rushed to her mind and she blushed fierily. He didn't notice, was gone in a sweep of silver-green robes.  
  
It was her fate that he came into the Potions class just as she had started to heat an extremely flammable essential oil. She took her eyes off the cauldron for a second, which then turned into five seconds, then ten seconds, then fifteen, as she watched him. Snape walked off into his office just before the long flames shot out of her cauldron.  
  
She panicked and lost her head completely. "Oh Gods, oh, Gods!" she shrieked. So great was her panic that she failed to notice the large sink right next to her. She blindly pushed it away from her; the cauldron fell on the floor and its contents flamed up before her eyes.  
  
Malfoy stamped the flames out, picked up the cauldron and extinguished it in the sink. He hadn't lost his cool or his control of the situation. He turned to her and she saw contempt flame on his face. "Weasley!" he said sharply, in a tone like a good hard slap. "Don't panic! Gods!" His lips curled in a sneer and his disgust at her loss of control was obvious.  
  
"Stupid female!" he muttered, obviously not caring to keep his voice down. He shook his robes out, turned on his heel and strode over the door. Ginny began to shake not just with nerves but with both shame at herself and anger at Malfoy's contempt.  
  
All through scrubbing the soot stain from the floor (Snape 'excused' her from dinner to deal with it) she had repeated flashbacks of the curl of Malfoy's lip and his contemptuous tone: "Gods!" he had said, as if she were a complete incompetent.  
  
"I wish I could make him panic," she thought savagely. "I wish I could make him shake and whimper with fright while I loomed over him and shouted 'Malfoy! Don't panic, you imbecilic no-good male!' That would show the stupid, ignorant, racist bigot!" Anger and resentment made her tremble this time, rather than any feeling of attraction.  
  
She remembered the dream and felt a violent rage. That was it! That had got rid of the damned affinity that her hormones supposedly had for his. Attracted? Hands? Shoes? Had she been totally stupid? "Weasel," she told herself, "if all you had to do to get over Malfoy was set a cauldron on fire, I think you've got off lightly, my girl."  
  
All three Ginnys concurred at last on that point. They were so angrily happy that her Malfoy feelings had returned to pure hatred that no-one noticed the silent melting-away of the dark, hidden Ginny.  
  
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Ok, I've taken the suggestions of Fire Fairy and Venus on board! Broken up the paragraphs more, tried not to clutter it up with inessential detail. Great feedback you two! Thanks! You're really inspiring me to write this. Also, I know what you mean about careless spelling and grammar. They spoil otherwise good stories. Thanks for noticing that I try with those. I'm beginning to enjoy this. Hee hee! Back to hate-hate! Isn't Ferret a bad beast? 


	6. Horrid Ferret Nice Ferret Horrid Ferret

Horrid Ferret. Nice Ferret. Horrid Ferret.  
  
Malfoy had the strange effect of making the three Ginnys coalesce into one single, seething woman. "Indebted to Malfoy, Weasel?" she thought with happy anger. "For the first and last time, sweetheart!" Her hatred filled her with energy and she ran down to breakfast the next day with the fury still burning in her.  
  
"I feel good now I've got someone to hate for life," she chuckled sharply to herself. "I mean to make the most of this." She rounded the corner and saw Malfoy just ahead of her, walking calmly in to breakfast. She was shaking so hard with rage and nerves that she had to stop for a moment.  
  
Before she could control herself, she had launched herself forward. She didn't hit him full in the back but she made sure she got in a vicious swipe at him with her bag. Unfortunately, it connected. Malfoy stumbled forward.  
  
She froze, uncertain whether to carry on as if nothing had happened or stutter out some apology. That was her downfall; now he definitely knew it was her. "What the HELL did you think you were doing, Weasley?" he said, his voice hoarse with anger.  
  
Oh dear. He not only knew that she was the one who had knocked into him, but he also seemed to have a pretty good idea that she had done it with quite vicious intentions. She never knew what made her say it, never managed to figure it out the countless times she went over it in her mind later. "Well, Malfoy," she spat, "What did it look like? You stumbled, you idiot. Don't blame me if you can't walk straight."  
  
He turned a dark red with anger. He almost seemed to grow in his rage. "You, Weasley," he said, bending down and pushing his face forward until she could feel the spit flying from his mouth, "are a piece of scummy filth, a dirty, trashy girl who's barely four feet off the floor. I would call you blind except that you have a pair of exceptionally ugly eyes bugging out of your idiot head. Learn to use them properly or, by all the gods, you'll feel my boot on your fat backside if you ever so much as brush by me again."  
  
She couldn't stop shaking as she went into the Great Hall. She barely ate, she couldn't look up at anyone else, much less at the Slytherin table. She heard the snickers from that direction of the room and knew that they were directed at her slumped-down back. She turned hot and cold alternately from fear and humiliation.  
  
He had been on the point of hitting her, she could feel it. Some of the people who had witnessed it looked curiously at her as they passed. Malfoy had certainly turned ugly at the poor girl. What had she done?  
  
Ginny was more worried about what he would do next. She swore that she would never look at him again or go anywhere near him. She would be late for all her classes rather than walk down a corridor with him in it. If Slytherin were playing at a match, she wouldn't attend unless Gryffindor were playing to.  
  
She would punish him in the only way she knew how: by completely obliterating any knowledge of his existence from her mind. Malfoy had again succeeded in uniting all the different voices in her head. And the rage and humiliation were useful in a way: they made her feel alive.  
  
The incident stayed with her the entire day. She felt as someone would feel recovering from a major wound - it tingled whenever she thought about the humiliation and she lost herself in playing the incident over and over again in her mind.  
  
As she walked into the Potions classroom, she was almost high on the surge of hatred that washed over her whenever she thought about him. Malfoy was in the office as usual. She began to tremble slightly and flush hard, but she stopped herself. "Imagine he's the scarab beetles you're mashing," she told herself, "this is his face you're cutting up into tiny pieces."  
  
When she had finally started to mix the potion, she realised she had forgotten her dragon-hide gloves. She looked vainly around, wanting to borrow a pair from someone around her. Malfoy was approaching her table, and she decided to look busy and get her hands scalded rather than attract his attention in any way. "Use these," someone said, putting down a rather large pair of gloves. "Spares from the office." The inscrutable, emotionless face looking down at her was Malfoy's.  
  
For a moment she had an urge to throw them in his face. But as Snape had just walked back into the room, she simply looked at him for a moment and then took the gloves. Later she would wonder how she had looked, what it was that he had read into her look. Puzzlement, hatred? Please let him not have thought I was afraid, she would think. Please let me not have looked like a cowering, beaten puppy.  
  
At the end of the lesson he collected the gloves, looking completely indifferent to her reaction. As she turned to leave, he said, "Weasley." She stopped. She later wished she hadn't hesitated before turning around; it made her look as if she were childishly sulking rather than nursing the grudge of a lifetime. "Look where you're going next time." he said in a neutral tone. She was proud of herself for turning away and walking straight out of the dungeon.  
  
But the damage had been done. Though part of her was sore and angry at the morning's incident, hysterical Ginny was being rather treacherous. She seemed to think that what Malfoy had done was some sort of underhand wooing. The other Ginnys had to swipe viciously at her, and imagine tearing large chunks of red hair out of the hysterical one's head before she would stop.  
  
The dark, hidden Ginny had gone back to her staple diet of violent images. But she had evolved in some way. (A/N For those of you who get it, imagine the alien growing inside that bloke's stomach in 'Alien'.) She had become more definite, gained sharp teeth, hungered for violence, rocked the pit of Ginny's stomach in her restlessness.  
  
The silvery staircase finally descended from Trelawney's parlour and a crowd of Gryffindors poured out. Ginny was held up at the back and consequently walked alone back to the common room. Voices from a classroom made her stop; who could be using a classroom at this time? The voices were clear, even though the door was shut.  
  
"And the stupid bitch had the nerve, the actual cheek to pretend that she hadn't tried something!" rang out Malfoy's voice. "Maybe her red-headed idiot of a brother sent her to hex you or something." said someone else. "Man, they hexed us bad in the train!"  
  
"Don't refer to that incident, Goyle." Malfoy said coldly. "About the Weasley bitch though..she had better stay well out of my way if she doesn't want my hands around her scrawny neck!" Ginny didn't wait to hear more details. She fled back to the common room.  
  
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Hmmmm..how did you guys find that? Thanks to Miah, Crystal, Fire Fairy and Venus for reviewing! I don't like good Dracos..they're never like that in real life. He's going to get a lot worse before he gets any better! I'll be updating this in 4-5 days. Bighugs.. 


	7. The Ferret hunts the Weasel

The Ferret hunts the Weasel  
  
She walked between classes the next day, listless and feeling completely drained. None of the voices in her head could bear the seesaw of emotions he had put her through. Poor Ginny - she didn't even recognise it as a seesaw. All she could do to defend herself from the rage, fear and humiliation she felt was to shrink into herself and hope no-one would notice her.  
  
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't immediately recognise who it was that blocked her way. She went rigid when she did.  
  
He smiled. The hysterical Ginny rephrased this: "HE SMILED! WOW!" The dark Ginny, in true spoilsport fashion, noted idly that Malfoy was smiling a smile calculated to disarm. However, the charm wasn't completely hiding the calculation. But hysterical Ginny drowned the soft dark voice out with her screeching.  
  
"Aren't you trying to bump into me today?" he asked. One eyebrow arched itself and the smile stayed a smile. It didn't change into a smirk. If anything, it became a shade more charming. Unfortunately, it also contained more teeth than before - something that hidden Ginny sensed.  
  
She just stared at him. "Did those gloves come in handy?" he asked. Hysterical Ginny was in shock that Malfoy - the evil, cold Malfoy, was trying to make small talk. But the hidden Ginny noted the slight frown, the undertone of impatience in the voice. "Well?"  
  
"Um, yes, thanks." she stuttered. "Uh, thanks."  
  
He moved a bit closer to her. Ginny tensed at feeling and smelling and seeing him so near her. The thing that really got her attention, though, was that hidden Ginny seemed to be snarling and the hair on her little animal back standing on end. She was about to take a step back when he put out a hand and grasped her upper arm.  
  
The wary, instinctive part of her shrank away from the coldness that seemed to be spreading through her. But hysterical Ginny was swooning with delight, she seemed to think that Malfoy was the Knight on a White Charger and Prince Charming rolled into one. Part of her body started to feel warm.  
  
Malfoy was big, physically huge compared to her. He loomed over her and his hand weighed her down. It seemed to her that they stood that way for a long time, her body feeling hot and cold alternately, part of her shrinking away, part of her melting. Or it could have been a second before he sighed softly.  
  
He smiled again. "What's your name? Your first name?" Hysterical Ginny (well, simpering Ginny) took over. Feeling a pressing need to impress this big strong hunk of a man, she said "Ginevra." It came out a lot weaker than she meant it to.  
  
"Ginevra." He repeated it as if he were biting it to see if it could stand the strength of his teeth. "How.unusual, if I may say so. Well, Ginevra, I wonder if you could help me with something."  
  
All three Ginnys had fallen silent. Their collective brains seemed to have gone AWOL, unable to believe that Malfoy had first almost physically threatened her, then helped her, then abused her behind her back, and was now smilingly asking for help. Only the hidden Ginny showed a primitive presence of mind in staying alert.  
  
Ginny didn't realise that Malfoy was contemplating her bulging eyes and half-open mouth with a sneer. Obviously her mind couldn't quite process what he wanted from her. "Ginevra," he said again, now steering her through the nearest door into an empty classroom. The movement startled her.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she said, intending to sound cold. In reality she sounded merely scared. Malfoy continued to smile but now pushed his face downwards until he was quite close to hers. The scent of some expensive cologne tickled her nostrils.  
  
"I found something you might know a lot about." He reached into his robes and then opened his hand out gracefully. Lying on that solid palm was a thick bit of metal, on the side of which was scratched a crude snake. Some part of her mind recognised it as the tap that had allowed her access to the Chamber of Secrets.  
  
She stepped back in shock, not noticing that she had collided against a chair. His eyes continued to twinkle, his smile still glowed. "I want to know about dark possession. Your possession. How it happened. What you felt. I need to know."  
  
"You - bastard!" she ground out. "You sick bastard! Get away from me! Don't you come - near-" She ran blindly out of the classroom. Simply ran and ran until she found herself on her bed, crying and shaking. What was she going to do?  
  
The next few days, however, did not turn out to be the nightmare she expected them to be. The first time she came face to face with the devil himself after the Great Snake Incident (as she called it), he behaved extremely strangely. He looked at her, bit his lip, looked away, looked back at her, looked down, then looked at her through his lashes.  
  
Was he sorrowful? Bashful? Why was he acting like a lovestruck girl? There he was, watching her from the Slytherin table. Not a glare or a stare, but a somehow mournful look. As if he were..sorry that he had upset her. Hysterical Ginny was the main proponent of the sorrow theory. According to her, Malfoy had tried to be friendly, failed to be sensitive enough, and was genuinely contrite about the Great Snake Incident. Plus, he needed help.  
  
Anally retentive Ginny was scared that he was planning something but not quite sure. She was still mostly taken up with bugging the rest of them about Ginny's grades, her appearance, her punctuality and her ever-present homework.  
  
The third Ginny was genuinely puzzled. What was going on? Okay, hysterical Ginny wanted Malfoy to somehow sweep her away with roses, champagne and a white horse appeared somewhere in there. But the rest of them weren't completely stupid. Malfoy was planning something. But did he want her to help him or did he want to use her to help himself to forbidden experiences? Hidden Ginny was still freaked out. There was something about that boy that made her think of a rodent. No wonder Moody had turned him into a ferret, she thought with a small smile.  
  
Seemingly encouraged by the smile, Malfoy flashed a grin at her from the Slytherin table and leaned forward, his hair flopping over his forehead. The next minute his smile faded, and he looked down at his plate like a little whipped puppy dog. She realised that she had unconsciously frowned at the rare sight of a Malfoy grin.  
  
"Hello," said Neville. "Why are you and Malfoy exchanging long looks?" Ginny tore her eyes away from Malfoy, he seemed to be almost pouting at her. "We weren't." she began, but he cut in. "You most certainly were. The entire table is looking at you." Ginny swallowed. About thirty pairs of eyes above red-and-yellow scarves were glaring at her.  
  
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VenusDeOmnipotent: Um, I guess Draco is classy in lots of ways but there's a really and truly mean side to him. He's been mean all his life and he can be really horrid to weaker people. Kinda superficially charming, our Drakie.  
  
virgin-of-the-rose-blossom: oops! Forgot to mention that Draco's always in Snape's lab keeping himself in his good books. That's how he's there in Ginny's classes. Thanks for the great visual of the alien! (No, I missed Spaceballs but now that you've mentioned it I'll try to catch it.)  
  
Fire Fairy: thanks for the good comments.* hands over a cookie*  
  
Author's note: I love D/G and I love reading about the romantic/smart- arsed/gorgeous Dracos that all of you write about. However, as a skeptic and cynic, I think Draco's evil side has to be explored. He's mean, he's scary, he can be vile. He uses people left, right and centre. Don't we all know people like that? That's not to say he can't change. At the moment, and in this story, he'll stay evil. I'm not really the romantic kind BUT they may end up liking each other (or not). Thanks to my reviewers, you guys are ace! 


	8. The Ferret, the Weasel and the Portal of...

The Ferret, the Weasel and the Portal of Desire  
  
Disclaimer: read someone else's, the story's the important thing here.  
  
Unconscious inspiration: 'I Hate Not You' by poseur  
  
Perhaps it was her Gryffindor bravery, but she was inclined to think that it was the constant yapping of the dark Ginny who had recently woken up. If you want life to be intense, you can make it intense, she thought. Decision made, she retreated to her deserted dorm and rummaged for some parchment. Funnily enough, all the different voices in her head fell silent when she began to write:  
  
Malfoy,  
  
I'll tell you about the tap. I'll want some information in exchange. Meet me by the lake an hour before sunset.  
  
Ginevra Weasley  
  
She had to gently bully Pigwidgeon into being her messenger - he didn't seem very keen when he heard the recipient's name. Five minutes to one hour before sunset she went and sat on the old boulder, the one she had been on when she saw him alone for the first time. Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind a tree, smiling charmingly, causing the hidden creature inside her to growl and bare its teeth.  
  
He looked like a man of distinction. In that instant she was surprised at herself, because he was only a year older than she, but he had acquired the air of a man quicker than any of his contemporaries. Dark green robes of some very expensive wool, thick black leather gloves encasing those infinitely beautiful hands, and she wasn't even going to start on the shoes...how could someone so beautiful have such an aura of evil?  
  
He wasn't that far away. Two steps and she could touch him, put her hands inside those fine robes, bring those fingers to her mouth...she shook her head before the tension inside her became too great to contain.  
  
"Ginevra," he bowed. At first she thought he was mocking her, but his smile stayed polite, didn't lengthen into a smirk. "Let us discuss the terms of our deal." Again, no trace of sarcasm, or perhaps it was a very sophisticated sarcasm that didn't register on the Weasley radar.  
  
"You tell me how you found the tap and everything you know about it, and I tell you what I know about the tap." Well, after all she had decided that attack was the better part of defense.  
  
He cocked his head, still smiling. "Deal. No time like the present, Ginevra, I'll begin." She opened her eyes wide and pricked up her ears. "I know this has got something to do with the Chamber of Secrets," he held up the tap, "because Professor Snape joined the rest of the teachers in closing it. The debris from the demolition yielded me the tap."  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "You're not exactly the type to go rummaging in the garbage, Malfoy. Not the most credible story, is it?" He shifted his weight slightly, looking curiously at her. " I don't take you for a fool, Ginevra. Hear me out. The tap called out to me." He held up a hand as she began to frown.  
  
"Seeing is believing, little one. Here," he tossed the tap to her. She caught it neatly (the control freak part of her cheering madly, because she was normally quite clumsy) and said, frowning properly this time, "Little one?" "I'm a lot bigger than you are, Ginevra. Go on, hold it up to your ear."  
  
So she did. And the tap did talk to her, or rather, sing in a quavering, off-key note.  
  
I am the portal of desire  
  
Enter if you would have fire Come, be utterly consumed Youths and maidens, all have swooned.  
  
Once you enter by this gate I all your cares obliviate Let me pleasure you, my darling Feel my yearning, touch my longing.  
  
She didn't realise that she was smiling widely as the song ended. For some reason (Ginny never could understand why she felt what she felt) the song had temporarily lifted her worries about the thousand and one stupid things she worried about every day - classes, homework, being here and there on time, teachers, rules, brothers, life.  
  
Suddenly she didn't want to let the tap go. She looked at Malfoy and he was still smiling, only the smile was like her own, broad and unforced. Under normal circumstances she would have blushed or stammered or felt at least a little awkward, but she didn't feel any of that even though the song was not an innocent lullaby.  
  
"Can I keep it?" she asked suddenly. He shook his head. "Finders keepers, Ginevra." He held out his hand but she didn't return the tap. She closed her fist around it and put her hand behind her back. Malfoy didn't seem perturbed. But he did have his slender black wand in one of his hands and was tapping it softly against the knuckles of the other.  
  
"Suppose you tell me about it, Ginevra." She didn't think twice, she wanted to hold onto the tap for a little longer. "It was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. See the snake?" She rubbed at it with her thumb. Any worries she had about telling Malfoy any of this seemed to have faded away. "You spoke to it in Parseltongue and it opened up."  
  
"Why did the Heir of Slytherin take you into the Chamber?" She looked at him, he looked candidly back at her, she wasn't fooled, the dark creature inside her began to tense in a flight-or-fight impulse. She shrugged. "Dunno. Probably the only one wandering around at the time." He looked at her through his lashes again. The guy was no fool, he knew she was lying. Not that the dark creature cared.  
  
"Who was it, anyway? The Heir.I've always wondered." She wanted to say, I was the Heir, Malfoy, it was me, and see, just for fun, whether his mouth would drop open like Lavender Brown's when she had just heard a particularly juicy bit of gossip. "I don't know," she said, lying weakly. "I was unconscious all the time, and Harry said it was someone from the Dark Side controlled by You-Know-Who, but I didn't ask, well, they weren't very keen to tell me.."  
  
"You can keep the tap for a day if you tell me the truth." She started. "You can, really. It knows lots of other songs, and some are far more risqué." His gentlemanly demeanour dropped for a second and he half smirked- half leered at her.  
  
"What makes you think I'll give it back anyway?" she asked, the dark creature inside her wanting to cause a commotion, wanting to provoke him. He came dangerously close to her, the danger being that she was at the wrong end of his wand - he laid it on her cheek in a caressing motion. Her head tipped back to look at him.  
  
"What makes you think I can't take it from you?" It was an almost blissful situation, the cool ebony of the wand tracing little circles on her cheek, moving dangerously close to her lips.  
  
"Why don't you try?" she challenged, aroused beyond belief but somehow not crumbling - yet. He took her fist from behind her back, his long, slender fingers caressing hers. Her heart started to beat faster, and she suddenly thought that the nonsense about shivers and chills and jolts of fire between the fingers of people who touch for the first time was not completely nonsensical.  
  
She wanted to bite those supple fingers, to lick their length, to have them all the way inside her. He tapped her clenched fist with his wand. "Comperio," he murmured silkily, and all the muscles in her hand went loose. He opened her fingers one by one, drawing his own across her palm as he took the tap away.  
  
"Send me that scrawny owl again when you are ready to tell me the truth, little one," he said softly, tapping her cheek with the length of ebony. "It might be interesting, for both of us." He raised an eyebrow at her and smiled as charmingly as ever. He let her hand drop and set off back to the castle, his dark green robes swinging around his lithe, upright figure.  
  
The golden glow of the sunset made a fitting backdrop for him, setting his fair hair on fire. He looked back once at her to smile, and the wind carried to her the sound of his voice, singing I am a portal of desire / Enter if you would have fire.  
  
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Thanks to Terra Incognito and to Sadie, I dedicate this chapter to you two because your reviews got me up and writing again. I like this chapter myself, although I had some trouble with coming back to the story after a while.  
  
Comperio (Latin) : to disclose fully, find out with certainty, lay open. 


	9. The Weasel makes a Really Bad Decision

The Ferret, the Weasel and the Really Bad Decision -----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ginny walked around the Gryffindor common room for hours that night. There was a load of static inside her head from all the Ginnys shouting at her, and the dark silent creature inside her growling now and again.  
  
The anally retentive Ginny said: "You are so way behind on Potions! Transfiguration! Charms!.." she trailed off, her voice getting squeakier and more distant as other, louder voices took over.  
  
The normal Ginny handled everything rather confusedly, she was only capable of pacing the common room and eating an endless supply of chocolate frogs (having begged a box off Neville earlier).  
  
The hysterical Ginny seemed to have disappeared into a large pink cloud that said "Aaaaaaah." in a very satisfied tone every time she remembered Draco Malfoy's hands upon her skin, or rather, Draco Malfoy's black leather gloves. She shivered deliciously at the thought of Draco Malfoy wearing nothing but black leather gloves. Oh yes. This Ginny was turning out to be uncontrollably forward and lustful. The normal Ginny was uncomfortably reminded of what her mother would call 'scarlet women'. Well, this one was flaming alright. She kept humming that unforgettable song to herself. Let me pleasure you, my darling / Feel my yearning, touch my longing....  
  
Should she send Pig to him again or not? And should she tell him the truth? How much of it? (Because not the whole of it, of course.) None of the Ginnys helped, especially as the large pink cloud of lust obscured any rational thought. What had that tap done? Did it have some kind of love charm on it? Absurd, it couldn't have.  
  
Rummage for parchment in the deserted dorm, again.  
  
Malfoy,  
  
If you want the truth, bring the tap.  
  
G  
  
And she tied the letter to Pig's leg because it seemed the most pleasurable thing to do.  
  
Draco Malfoy caught the sodden letter in mid-air. It was raining cats and dogs and the stupid little owl had almost drowned, they couldn't go outside to the lake. He smiled as he 'borrowed' Goyle's owl. He knew she wouldn't resist the tap.  
  
Ginevra,  
  
Alas, the rain. The entrance to the dungeons, an hour before curfew. Be there.  
  
He signed it with an emerald snake biting its tail.  
  
She was there on time, looking nervous and jumping as she heard some unknown Slytherins pass her, looking at her suspiciously. Finally the man himself appeared (he's only a boy, she told herself, just Ron's age). He beckoned to her and then strode off, away from the Slytherin common room. She followed, feeling sullen and hoping he had brought the tap.  
  
They ended up in a little room almost unnoticeable if you didn't know exactly where the crack in the stone wall was. He lit a fire (rather dramatically she thought, but then the whole atmosphere was melodramatic, the rain beating hard against the single window with the broken pane, the flaring fire that gave no heat, the long shadows it cast on his face).  
  
"Time for the truth yet, Ginevra?" His voice was impatient, rough. He had at some point decided to drop the charm and the sinister side showed through plainly. The hidden creature inside her loved it and stretched luxuriously.  
  
How much should she tell him? Merlin, where were the damned voices in her head when she needed some advice fast? "Tell me everything, Ginevra." He could read her face, at any rate. But she was stubborn too.  
  
"You ask the questions, Malfoy. And I'll answer you, if - you let me hold the tap." She said the last part rather quickly, unwilling to admit even to herself how much of a hold the tap had over her. He smiled and she had a feeling that he knew the exact extent of her - obsession?  
  
He pulled it out from his robes, along with the ebony wand. He wasn't wearing gloves this time. He brought the tap close to her face, waving it to and fro before her, a slightly taunting smile on her face. Ginny realised the expression as one that a little boy would have while pulling the wings off a particularly rare dragonfly. Somehow, it irritated her on one level but excited her on another.  
  
She swatted the tap away from him softly, but he let go, he had been expecting it. She held it up to her ear and it began to hum silkily. She involuntarily moved closer to the fire as she shivered, and the humming became louder. Quickly she moved right upto the fire, and the song of the tap filled the room.  
  
"My face well-hidden from the light  
  
I hold my name all out of sight  
  
But within me I have fire! Fire!  
  
Shooting through pools of mad desire.  
  
Youth and maiden, golds and reds  
  
Drown yourselves in velvet beds  
  
If you would true sensation know  
  
Come, come, here is my molten flow..."  
  
"I think it's talking to both of us this time," he observed. Ginny yelped and jumped back; so absorbed had she been in the song that she had almost walked into the fire and the smell of cheap scorched cloth told her that her robes had suffered for it. He was smiling cruelly. "You're the one it's had the strangest effect so far."  
  
"What?" "You know," he said lazily, drawing a hand through his soft hair. "All the other girls just let me pounce on them." Ginny had the horrible hot feeling that meant she was blushing to the roots of her hair. She was vaguely aware that her mouth had fallen open. He was now leering at her suggestively, playing with his wand. She dragged her jaw back up and attempted a stiff manner that even she wasn't fooled by. "I don't want to know, Malfoy."  
  
He cocked his head to one side and regarded her thoughtfully. "But I do want to know, little one. Who opened the Chamber of Secrets?" She went for a compromise. "You-know-who." "Mm, I know that. But whose body did he use?" "Someone's." Now that was not a clever answer. "You're a real fount of information, not to mention intelligence." He was shaking his head at her as if she were the class dunce and had just let him, the teacher, down. "What was the name of the 'someone'?"  
  
"No, Malfoy, there's no way I'm telling." He came very close to her, and again her head tipped back so she could glare at him. He was frowning slightly, as if she were an academic problem that he was finding difficult. "Why you?" "I told you, I was the only one wandering around." "Who took you in there?" "You-know-who." "Whose body was it he occupied?" "Gilderoy Lockhart's." "I see." He regarded her again. "Well, I see that you're not biting, Ginevra. No-one would have chosen that bumbling idiot."  
  
"So what was it like down there?" Ah, change of tack. "Really, I don't remember, I was out most of the time." He raised both eyebrows. "Ginevra," he bent down so that his robes brushed hers and his eyes were about a handspan away. "A song in exchange for the truth," he whispered. "You got the song, now give me the truth." "Are you calling me a liar?" she squeaked (it wasn't meant to come out as a squeak).  
  
He began to snigger. "Ah, brave but not well-endowed up here, Ginevra." He tapped his forehead. "One hopes that you make up for it" his eyes flicked over her small form and the freshly scorched robes "elsewhere." That was it. She had now been officially insulted and could attack. The hidden creature inside her stood up on its hind legs and keened.  
  
She barrelled into him as hard as she could, almost knocking him ever. The next few minutes passed in a blur of tangled robes, flying red hair, and pale skin that she tried hard to bite, snapping at him and clawing him ferociously. He swore fluidly as he got out of the way of her teeth and nails, surprisingly retaining enough self-control to keep from hexing her.  
  
Finally he wrestled her into the ground, twisting her arms behind her, one knee in the small of her back, his full weight on her legs. She was panting hard, her robes had ripped, her hair flowed over her face as she panted, getting in her mouth. She relaxed and began to gather her strength for another attack.  
  
He was breathing hard too. He released the pressure on her fractionally and she took full advantage, thrashing wildly to get away from him, twisting her neck nearly out of joint and she tried to reach some skin she could bite. He grabbed her hair and ground the knee into the small of her back. Some part of her was finding this tactile confrontation very satisfying, not sexually, simply physically. Was it that long since she had tried to beat Ron up? she wondered as she lay with one cheek pressed painfully against the floor now at eye-level.  
  
"It was the song, wasn't it? It's addled your mind. So you did want me to pounce on you after all, Ginevra. Funny, you don't look like you have a fetish for violent handling." She could hear him reaching for his wand. She kicked out but didn't manage to get her leg free. The wand prodded the back of her neck. "Petrificus cervicem" he said, panting. She was frozen from the neck down.  
  
He got off her, brushing down his robes. She tried to thrash, but the only thing she could move was her head; she craned over her shoulder and saw him drawing up a large armchair in mid-air. As soon as it appeared he dragged her off the ground and onto his lap. Her robes fell off. She tried biting him but he caught hold of her hair very near her head and yanked hard enough for tears to come into her eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes cold and assessing. Then he nodded to himself, and smiled that charming smile. "Don't cry, Ginevra darling. Remember, you asked for this. That should be some comfort."  
  
He began to hum softly, pointing at her uniform with his wand. "My face well- hidden from the light / I hold my name all out of sight." The buttons of the grey school waistcoat opened halfway, the tie unknotted itself and slid off her neck. "But within me I have fire! Fire! (he hissed this last word) / Shooting through pools of mad desire." The starched white shirt beneath began to open as he looked closely at his handiwork. Ginny couldn't scream, the spell made sure of that.  
  
Youth and maiden, golds and reds/Drown yourselves in velvet beds He carried on singing softly, yanking her head back to expose her throat. He sucked hard on her neck, his teeth not finding enough purchase on the meagre flesh for a deep bite. His other hand wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling on the small hairs. Guilt flowered in her as the lovebite progressed and she didn't stop enjoying it.  
  
"If you would true sensation know/ Come, come, here is my molten flow.." He parted the shirt with his wand, gazing almost tenderly down on the small curves of her breasts. In a swift motion he bent his head and bit her hard on her left breast. Merlin, the pain! It shot through her as she screamed silently, squeezing her eyes shut, tears leaking through the corners.  
  
He smiled and whispered "amicio".  
  
He let her down on the floor and waved his wand, the chair vanished. He pointed at her and mouthed "transitor". He leaned down and looked dispassionately at her. ""You can leave in the next ten minutes, Ginevra. Let this be our secret, little one." He was gone, leaving the door ajar.  
  
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000  
  
'amicio' (Latin): to clothe , wrap round, wrap up, cover, conceal 


	10. The Weasel, the Ferret, and the Really B...

The Weasel, the Ferret, and the Really Bad Obsession  
  
Ten minutes passed, during which a chilling draught swept in through the broken window and put the fire out. The only light came through the door swinging, swinging.. a dim torch fluttered in the unknown corridor outside.  
  
As soon as the paralysis wore off, Ginny Weasley got to her feet. Luckily George had taught her a spell to locate the 'safest' route to Gryffindor tower from any point in Hogwarts, he and Fred had perfected it by incessant use. She turned up in her dorm to find a half-worried, half-scolding note from Ron and Hermione.  
  
The same thoughts chased through her mind in an incessant circle, bringing to mind the snake with its tail in its mouth, imprinted on the letter that had brought her to this state (the usually hysterical Ginny inside her had decided to go melodramatic). She had been assaulted. So, should she go and tell someone, since she was a girl who would never let a guy walk over her like this? Hell yes.  
  
What was the next step? Right, catalogue of injuries. She had slipped into the nearest bathroom and had a good look in a mirror, expecting to see large yellow-purple bruises on the milky skin that went with the Weasley red hair. It was far worse than she had expected.  
  
Her skin was completely unmarked. HOW?  
  
She looked down at her breast. There was a round red mark on it, still throbbing. She looked back at the mirror. Said breast was there, but completely unsullied. So there was no evidence that anyone else could see...Ginny, not being as badly-endowed in the brain region as Malfoy had insinuated, figured out quickly that she had better do some serious research on "amicio" in the library.  
  
What worried her far more, though, was that she had enjoyed most of their physical encounter. She had relished the fight, hadn't realised how much she missed physical tussling. She had been indecently excited while Malfoy was slow-stripping her, and had felt a betraying 'twang' in the muscles between her legs when his lips touched her.  
  
Except for the bite, and even the pain...she could get used to that level of pain, no problem..."BAD Ginny!" she shouted mentally, smacking her head hard with the flat of her hand. "Bad, disgusting, filthy Ginny!" She tried rolling over to get the disturbing and suspiciously enjoyable mental image of Malfoy biting her all over and exciting her until her hair stood on end. No luck, poor Ginny. The image stayed.  
  
That night Ginny had cramps (after-effects of the Petrificus), sneezing fits (from ten minutes on the cold floor), and highly colourful dreams (of Malfoy in nothing but black leather gloves running his fingers up her thighs). And no sleep to speak of.  
  
The next day in the library she feebly attempted work on her growing pile of unfinished homework after much nagging by the anally retentive Ginny, who was panicking at the thought of being shunted so much to one side. The hysterical Ginny only wanted to know what "amicio" meant, and the dark hidden one had gone quiet, probably having had so much exercise in the last day. Blearily the Ginny in control dragged the lot of them to the library.  
  
"Amicio is a powerful spell, veering towards Dark Magic. It is not a simple hex or curse. It is designed to conceal the physical effects of the spell from all but the victim. The psychical effects are to haunt the victim with vivid sensory images of the caster and to make them more suggestible and vulnerable to the one in control. The spell cannot be lifted before three full moon cycles."  
  
Yum. Vivid sensory overload on Malfoy and her probably following him around like a lap-dog for three months? NOT! Oh crap. She would have to tell someone.  
  
"It's not a medical spell," said Flitwick after Charms when she had stayed behind. "Are you the victim?" Ginny shook her head for no, and legged it. "Miss Weasley, do not bother me again with your lack of research," Snape had said, glaring at her over a pile of graded essays with large red "F"s all over them. "The potions I have are too potent to deal with it. They would probably turn you into a ginger grease-stain on the floor, though come to think of it, it would mean one less stupid student.." And Ginny had fled, not out of fear of Snape but of showing her secret excitement that it would be three full months before it would wear off.  
  
She walked morosely back to Gryffindor Tower after supper that night, having convinced herself that she was not enjoying it one bit and vowing to stay from Malfoy for the next three months. And then she heard it.  
  
"This way comes a maiden fair  
  
Crowned with locks of flaming hair  
  
She bears the twin marks of desire  
  
Neck and breast branded with fire...  
  
Listen to my soft refrain  
  
Maiden, come touch me again  
  
A gold youth lies in wait for thee  
  
That you a maid no more may be..."  
  
Without pausing she turned to follow the song. The silence in the corridor and in her head was absolute. She moved as if possessed, purposefully searching for the tap. She needed to touch it and hold it close to her. Malfoy had become just a minor detail.  
  
The minor detail lounged on a large silver-green sofa in front of a roaring fire. As soon as she appeared in the doorway he held up the tap, his eyes never leaving the fire. The door closed as soon as she stepped over the threshold.  
  
She looked at him for a long moment. Tonight he was wearing thick green Quidditch robes that drooped onto the ground, the large silver clasp having slid from his neck to one shoulder. His face was almost hidden by the fine, thick, flyaway blond hair. The hand that held the tap up wore Quidditch gauntlets in - you guessed it - black leather.  
  
He never looked at her. So she was startled when he said in his usual soft voice "If you want to hold it you have to come closer." She took a couple of steps forward. "Closer, closer." Some unwilling part of her (probably the third, everyday Ginny, who was the most honest) confessed that it was a game and that she was enjoying it. Another three steps forward. He patted the sofa in the middle, indicating that she should move there.  
  
He lay occupying the entire length of the sofa with his head looking away from her. "You're hogging the entire sofa, Malfoy."  
  
"An astute observation, Ginevra. Now come here." The last words were said in a soft, delicious drawl. She could hear the ripple of laughter in his voice.  
  
Willingly, but pretending reluctance, she finally stood between him and the fire and plucked the tap out of his hand, holding it to her ear. It began to whisper to her and she sighed involuntarily. Malfoy was looking at her, well, at the spot where her robes parted to reveal the short school skirt.  
  
He slipped his hand between her legs and began to stroke her inner thigh. She noticed. She pretended to be completely absorbed with the tap and closed her eyes. He noticed that she was pretending because her lips parted and she sighed softly, again. He kept stroking her and she made no move to draw away.  
  
Some part of her mind realised that he could take her now and she wouldn't do a thing about it. But it shut down very soon, leaving behind a growing pleasure pooling between her thighs. The callused skin of his fingertips crept over one thigh, the gauntlet rubbing against the other every now and then. Then the pleasure stopped, very suddenly. The tap stopped whispering sweet nothings in her ear.  
  
He looked at the naked "why?" on her face as her eyes opened. "The truth," he said softly. "You owe me the truth, maiden darling." Before she could run he gripped her tight and pulled her down onto the sofa, cradling her with one arm while laying a long leg across hers. He shoved her underneath him ungracefully, his cloak nearing strangling him before he swore and reached up to release the silver clasp.  
  
"As a good Gryffindor, you should keep your promises, Ginevra. The truth about your first-year adventures, sweetheart. When the thrill of my presence has worn off a little, of course." He smiled at her.  
  
"Why did you bite me?"  
  
"So you would be my willing slave and come running whenever I asked you to. Now, who was the heir of Slytherin?"  
  
"Mrs. Norris."  
  
"Well, I'd have picked her over Harry Idiot Potter any day, she has more brains. Not the same linguistic ability, though. Was it he?"  
  
The anally retentive part of her popped up to scold briefly for not defending Harry, but the rest of her suddenly began to feel very tired. Why not tell him?  
  
"I'll tell you if you let me keep the tap, Malfoy."  
  
To her surprise, he said that he was planning to give it to her anyway. "But I can't trust you, maiden fair. You've littered my path with broken promises." He made a sad face, she snorted and he unscrewed his pout. "Veritas," he whispered, having adroitly aimed his wand at her temple before she realised, and clamping down on her arms before she could struggle. "A little truth spell to check how close you are to the truth.."  
  
Ginny relaxed, it was harmless. The air around her would glow green if she were lying, and rosier the closer she got to the truth, and blood-red when she let the cat out of the bag.  
  
Then he bent forward and kissed her. She resisted bravely and even put up a little token struggle, though that stopped soon enough. Unfortunately she moaned aloud when he slid his tongue into her mouth, and clutched at his robes to pull him nearer. He broke the kiss.  
  
"Who was the heir? Tell me, sweetheart."  
  
"Professor Trelawney."  
  
He snorted, began to caress the short hair at the nape of her neck, and removed one of his gauntlets, tugging with his teeth. He slipped a finger between her lips in an exploratory way and she arched her back to take it whole into her mouth, licking greedily. When he began to make small thrusting motions into her mouth, she became very wet between her legs and involuntarily parted them. It didn't escape his notice; he stopped and pulled away.  
  
"Who was possessed? Give me a clue, mmm?"  
  
"The Giant Squid."  
  
"Definitely a better choice than that measly Weasel, you know, the misshapen one who eats as if he's never seen food outside Hogwarts."  
  
She laughed softly. "Misshapen? I'd have thought you would be misshapen after being bounced around the Great Hall about twenty times. You know, when you were taking time out being such a *handsome* specimen of the Mustelidae."  
  
His eyes glittered and he pulled sharply on her hair, so that she said "Ouch!" sharply. He yanked again, and her eyes filled with tears. "You bastard!" she spat at him, struggling again.  
  
"That was for insinuating that I belonged, however briefly, to the same animal family as your freak of a brother, little one. Now are you going to tell me who stole off with you into that girl's bathroom?"  
  
"Gladly, it was Moaning Myrtle," she answered angrily, red in the face from the exertion of twisting her hands out of his grip. He released her for a second before pinning her down more effectively than before. Then he proceeded to lull her into an almost somnolent state by kissing her with soft, little kisses, only on her lips, lingering ones that continued until he felt the strain leave her body.  
  
He stopped before a different kind of tension could settle onto her. And before she could be irritated, he asked caressingly "It wasn't you, was it?"  
  
The air flashed blood-red between them. He was so shocked that he let her go as she jumped up with a queer twisted face. Somehow the door was open and she was running away again, blindly, a stitch in her side, gasping for breath.  
  
Ginny Weasley had completely missed a fine opportunity to snatch the singing tap from Draco Malfoy.  
  
terra-incognito: thank you! You make me feel really special. I was so pleased that you mentioned this on your wonderful story.  
  
Kayson: I hope you read chapter 9 and that your computer stops being evil. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Evil-Miyu: Um, yes, Ginny in the first chapters is based on the different voices in my head, definitely. And I so have my own personal dark creature as well, it's small, evil and likes popcorn a lot.  
  
All you wanted to know about ferrets but were afraid to ask (compiled from the web):  
  
According to the system of Binomial Nomenclature, the ferret and the weasel belong to the family Mustelidae, whose name is derived from the Latin word for musk. The domesticated ferret is given the Latin name Mustela Putorius Furritus. The word ferret comes from the Latin word furritus, which literally translates to "little fur thief". This name was chosen due to the fact that ferrets are expert hunters.  
  
Rather like our Draco in this fic then :-) 


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